


Rock and a Hard Place

by Timballisto



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce, PIERCE Tamora - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Mostly Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timballisto/pseuds/Timballisto
Summary: Tris would grow up, thinking he'd abandoned her and she'd probably hate him for it. He would hate himself for it. Valden Chandler, father of Trisana Chandler, stood tall, took a deep breath, and made the decision any good father would.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts pre-Sandry's book and continues along that same general plot as canon. This is actually an edited version of a fic I had posted on ff.net. The stuff I took from ff.net is about 124k words, not even counting the rising word count as I fill in little plot holes and add more necessary exposition.
> 
> Some parts of it are a little dramatic, but honestly there are a lot of slice of life stories in the Circle fandom, and I wanted to do somethinga little different. So here's my AU, asking the question of what would've happened if Tris had had at least one parent who didn't want to give her away.

“I want her sent away!” Darra said, pointing an accusing finger at their daughter’s bedroom. She kept her voice a low, harsh whisper, belied by the fear on her face. “I want her _gone!_ ”

Valden went to the door, shutting it with a definitive click of the lock. He rested his head against the wood for a second, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

“She is your _daughter._ ” He said coldly, turning around to look his wife in the eyes.

The vehemence in his tone made Darra take a step back. Valden was a quiet man, not given to talk and given even less to temper. Many on a first glance thought he was weak-willed, dominated by his demanding wife and her powerful family. Usually, he was content to let this misconception continue, but not when it came at the expense of Trisana.

Valden liked to think that if Trisana inherited something other than his bad eyesight from his side of the family, it’d be his pigheaded obstinacy.

“I can’t take it anymore, Valden!” Darra hissed, twisting her hands into her skirts. “Lightning— _lightning!_ —was climbing through her hair this morning!” Her nose flared. “People talk, Valden. We’re lucky she hasn’t caused an accident somewhere public—“

“She never goes out in public.” Valden said, his temper rising. “You don’t let her leave the house!” 

“And for good reason.” Darra set her mouth in a cruel line. “She’s an embarrassment. We called in Jessa Bonesight _twice_ —“

“Believe me, I know.” Valden said. “For 10 gold nobles an hour, your mother won’t let me forget it—“

“She’s the best at finding young mages in all of Ninver!” Darra threw up her hands. “And she said Tris hasn’t got a speck of it.”

“Then how do these things keep happening?” Valden interjected. “Please explain to me how lightning got in her hair without magic?”

Darra drew herself up, and then stopped, glancing at Tris’s door. She gestured they move to the sitting room, and Valden followed in terse silence. She stopped in front of the fireplace, flicking imaginary dust from the mantle. 

“I’ve been talking with Mother.” Darra said, after a pause. She stared into the empty fireplace, keeping her eyes on the floor. “She said it’s not… it’s not natural, what Tris can do.”

“Your mother’s said a lot of things.” Valden said evenly. He didn’t have the best relationship with the matriarch of House Chandler. Oh he’d worked his way up from his humble beginnings as the son of a lowly ship’s clerk—put himself through University and made something of himself as an architect for the Kings Navy. House Chandler certainly hadn’t complained when he’d pledged his ship designs for their exclusive use. But as high as he’d risen, House Chandler had never quite let him forget where he came from.

“She’s possessed, or—or cursed!.” Darra said, whirling around to face him with panicked eyes.

“Do you hear yourself?!” Valden exclaimed, his voice rising. “That is your daughter, you’re talking about. So what if she’s,” he fumbled for a word to say. “-odd?”

“ _Odd_ is one thing.” Darra said back. Her voice was rising in volume to match Valden’s. “But her? She’s not odd, she’s dangerous. And if you spent as much time home as you did in the office, you would realize that! Hail indoors, wind slamming the doors shut, lightning in her hair, _talking to herself_?! No Valden, she’s mad. Mad or cursed, but either way she needs to be gone from here.” Darra’s breath was coming quicker now as she worked herself up. “I want her _gone_.I want her _out_ -!”

“Enough!” Valden roared, his voice frighteningly loud in the sitting room. His hands were shaking. His eyes were slits behind his glasses, leveling his wife with the deadliest look he could manage. “She’s staying, and that’s the end of it.”

She glared back, not cowed at all by his show of force. Shadows from the falling night fell across her face, and Valden already had a sinking feeling—

“I’m sending her to Cousin Uraelle.” Darra said. Her voice was blank and emotionless. As though she wasn’t talking about getting rid of their only child. 

“No—“ He said, weakly.

“Yes.” Darra said primly. “Perhaps a little hard raising will straighten out what’s wrong with her.”

“Trader’s damn you, woman!” Valden said. His hands were still shaking, and he felt himself sway. “I’m her father—you can’t just send her away! I won’t allow it!”

“We both know it’s not really up to you.” Darra said. “House Chandler is the legal executor of this family, so it doesn’t really matter what you allow. The letter has already been sent and the arrangements are being made.” She took a few swift steps across the room to take his hands in her own. “Please… it would be better for Tris, for all of us, if you just accept this quietly.”

“’Better for Tris’? Are you even hearing yourself speak?” Valden blinked at her as if looking at a stranger.

“Darling, I love you but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be in the same house with her. She just looks at me with those eyes and I can’t—things are better this way, can’t you see?”

“No, I can’t.” Valden said, yanking his hands away from his wife’s touch. “And I know that the Darra I married wouldn’t have either.”

Valden saw the hurt flash in his wife’s eyes before it was twisted into anger. “Remember who was born a Chandler, Valden,” Darra said. “and who married one. House Chandler made you; you’d be nothing without my family and I’ll not let you forget your place for one moment. We _own_ you. We own your office, your warehouses, your designs—we could ruin you, Valden. And all for what? A girl too strange to be around polite company?”

Valden looked on in horror as his wife spewed this vitriol, trying to control his growing nausea because it was _true_. Not about Tris (never about Tris), but about his life. He’d signed over his entire existence to House Chandler at the first sign of stability, and he had nothing but himself to blame for his utter helplessness.

“She will be going to cousin Uraelle’s by the end of the month.” She turned to leave. “Oh, and Valden?” Darra turned back. “ _That_ is the end of it.” And then she left. 

As soon as the sound of Darra’s footsteps faded, Valden collapsed into a nearby armchair.

Now… now what?

The Chandlers were the executors of his will, his bank accounts, and his business—Darra wasn’t exaggerating when she’d said they owned him. They even owned the rights to his ship designs. If he fought for her in court, a judge would take one look at him and award custody to House Chandler and he’d have nothing. 

They’d won.

Valden felt his body slacked as the realization hit him hard. His daughter was going to go away, possibly for years to a woman who was famous for her cruelty. Tris would grow up, thinking he’d abandoned her and she’d probably hate him for it.

He would hate himself for it.

Valden’s mouth twisted as he rose. He walked silently out of the sitting room, down the hallway to Tris’s room. He cracked the door open, peering inside. Tris was asleep in a ball, the sheets kicked off of her legs. He could see the shine of tear tracks in the pale moonlight. He moved into the room, carefully tucking her in and smoothing away the curls that had fallen into her eyes while she slept. He kissed her forehead, smiling as she shifted, mumbling in her sleep.

Then he turned on his heel and made his way downstairs to write a few letters. He had some favors to call in if he wanted to pull this off.

* * *

The next day when Tris woke up, she though the shouting had been a dream. Mother wouldn’t have wanted her gone, would she?

And then she heard the silence. Her mother was usually up first, her hustle and bustle the first sign of life in the house before she would leave to go mind the Chandler accounts. Her father’s merry whistling was also missing, which he did each morning as he shaved for work. It was eerily silent.

 _Last night wasn’t a dream._ Tris concluded sadly, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her nightgown. _Mother really does think I’m…_ Her mouth tightened and her chin came up. Anger sparked in her belly, building into petulant resentment. Why should she change for her mother? She’d done her best to be good. She’d done her chores the first time she was asked, and sometimes without having to be asked at all. She did her mathematics and reading every night before bed, and never tried to sneak out of bed at night. She’d been _good_. It wasn’t her fault these things kept happening. 

There was a gentle knock on the door. “Miss Trisana?” Tris blinked. It was her tutor, one of Father’s friends. But why was _he_ waking her up…?

“Your mother and father are out today, so they sent me a little early.” He explained. “I understand that there’s breakfast waiting for us in the kitchen, and then we can sit down for lessons. Is that alright?”

“Yes sir!” Tris called back, getting out of bed and going over to her wardrobe. She pulled a linen dress over her head and shoved her feet into her slippers, not caring a whit if she looked creased. She yanked her unruly hair back and tied it back clumsily with a ribbon before she grabbed her slate, chalk, and books off of her dresser. She stumbled out into the hallway, smiling up at her tutor.

“Did you finish your mathematics problems?” Her tutor asked, smiling at Tris’s slightly insulted face.

“Yes Master Giles.” She sniffed. She _always_ did her work. She’d taken her Father’s advice seriously; education came before play—not that she had any friends to play with anyway.

“I know, my dear.” Giles chuckled. “Your Father’s always so proud of your marks. Top of the class.”

“I’m the only one in the class.” Tris said, glumly. Mother had taken her out of the little group of her cousins who met together for schooling to have her privately tutored. At the time, Tris had believed her Mother when she said she wanted Tris privately tutored for a better education. Now, though, Tris was sure it was because she’d been deemed too strange to be around the other children. As if Tris was infectious.

“I have no doubt that if you were in a class of two hundred, you’d still get the highest marks.” Giles said.

Tris smiled at him, a little dread lifting from her heart as Giles praised her. She turned to walk down the hallway towards breakfast, missing the hint sadness in Giles’ eyes as he watched her go.

* * *

“Are you sure about this Valden?” Giles asked, taking a sip of brandy from the glass on the edge of Valden’s desk. “I don’t know the law, but I’m pretty sure kidnapping your own child is still kidnapping.”

“I’m willing to consider it a legal grey area.” Valden admitted, shuffling through the papers on his desk. He plucked a few sheets loose, placing them near a pile of rolled up blueprints. The rest he threw in the fire. The flames flickered and sputtered before devouring the ink and parchment, the glow illuminating the dark office.

“It’s really not.” Giles pointed out. “The Chandlers can get any judge to interpret that in their favor.”

Valden shrugged. “It’s a good thing we’re leaving the country then.”

“Ah, so that’s your plan.” Giles sat back, pressing his fingers together. “I’d wondered if you realized what needed to be done.”

“We’re headed to Emelan.” Valden said. He packed the unburned blueprints and papers into a valise, bucking it closed.

“Emelan!” Giles yelped.

“Hush!” Valden hissed. “You want to announce to the whole building what we’re doing?” They were completely silent, listening intently for footsteps on the floor above, or movement in the hallway. It was late, and the warehouse that held Valden’s office was deserted. That didn’t mean no one was listening.

“Emelan?” Giles said, keeping his voice down this time. “I was thinking Yanjing, or Namorn. Emelan isn’t nearly far enough away.”

“House Chandler does extensive business in almost every port city in the civilized world.” Valden said. “They have suppliers in almost every country, and they would expect me to go north. Part of me wants to go east until we find the edge of the world and hope they never find us, but the further east you go, the more ruthless and powerful the merchant houses get. No, Emelan is best. We can blend in there—and better yet, the Duke of Emelan keeps his merchants on a tight leash.”

“I wonder why that is.” Giles wondered aloud.

“It keeps up healthy competition, apparently. I believe it—my in-laws wouldn’t be nearly so offended by the restrictions if they didn’t. One guild hall per merchant house means more merchants paying individual taxes, rather than just one monopolizing all the trade and driving the price up. Darra explained it to me, once.” Valden trailed off, clearing his throat at the mention of his wife.

“Darra will kill you if you manage to pull this off.” Giles said, softly. “When you leave—she’ll be humiliated.” 

“…I know.” Valden said. If there was anything a Chandler hated more than wasting money, it was public ridicule. “I married her because I was young and in love. She loved me too—in her own way. It was just so _hard_ after Aaron… after our son died. It destroyed her when child fever took him. And then Tris was born and—“ Valden sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “She had to bury her baby boy and raise a child born of strangeness. She bled a lot, after Tris. So much so that the healers say another pregnancy would kill her.”

“I’m sorry my friend, you never said.” Giles said.

“What was the use?” Valden said listlessly. “She thinks she’s a laughingstock, and I certainly don’t help. Most of the Chandler men think I’m a limp-wristed bardash and that the real reason Darra hasn’t had another child is because I’m impotent.”

“Ah.” Giles said, a little apologetic. He’d been uninterested in love and sex since his youth, so he felt a little out of his depth. Every time he felt doubt, felt like there was something wrong with him that needed fixing, he only needed to look to his friend and see the grief etched in every line of his face to know that he had no reason to doubt himself.

“It certainly puts our relationship into perspective, doesn’t it?” Valden couldn’t help his bitter tone. “She wanted more children, but she can’t even be happy with the one she has now.”

“To be fair,” Giles pointed out. “You _do_ have an unusual child. Just this morning in the middle of a lesson, a breeze from the window blew her composition papers right out of her hands. She merely demanded that they be returned and, like a dog called to heel, the papers drifted right back into her hands.

Valden sighed. “Sometimes I understand why my wife would just give up and hand her off.” He kneaded the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefingers. “It’s things like that that give me pause. What is she is posses by an elemental spirit or something?” 

“Valden Chandler." Giles said harshly. "If you doubt that little girl, I'll tell you right now; you don't know your only daughter. She is bright, dedicated, and absolutely worships you. If you think someone like that could ever-"

"Alright." Valden interrupted, holding up a hand to stall Giles growing rant. "I understand. And I’m glad you want to help."

“She’s the daughter I never had.” Giles said gruffly, shifting in his seat. “And you’re my best friend. Of course I’m going to help you, you idiot.”

“Good.” Valden said. “Because I need you to deliver this to the architect of the House Tanner dry docks.” He hefted the valise, passing it across his desk to Giles. “First thing in the morning, and don’t leave until you get a response.”

“What is this?” Giles peered into the valise. “Are these…?”

“Every blueprint for every ship I’ve designed for House Chandler?” Valden said grimly.

“You’re signing your own death warrant.” Giles said dumbly, looking up to stare at his friend. “They'll be baying for your blood as soon as they realize these are gone.”

“If I know House Tanner, I need something this big to get them to help. I need a small discreet ship that’ll get me to Summersea without any paperwork. That means no chartering a ship, no signing on as cargo—the only place I’m going to get that kind of anonymity is to do something incredibly stupid.”

“Like selling out one of the large merchant families in Ninver?” Giles said.

“Exactly. I’d do it myself, but I’m being watched. There were at least three listening spells in my office alone.” Valden said. "Of course, they used an oil that smelled as strong as the damn temple incense. I may not have magic, but I'm not stupid. You don't need a Lightsbridge degree to smudge oil glyphs."

"They always did underestimate you." Giles said, grinning as he clapped his friend on the back. "Very much the slippery merchant eel, as the Traders say. I do recall you telling me once that you’d never be like those filthy, money grubbing merchants—“

“Yes, yes.” Valden said, flustered as Giles grinned at him in approval. “Well I was young, and rather naïve. Everyone has a little merchant in them, especially in Ninver.”

“Except for me.” Giles laughed. Valden joined in.

“Except for you.” Valden agreed. “You couldn’t bargain your way out of a sack.”

The clock struck, signaling the approach of midnight.

“Oh, is it that late already?” Giles asked, surprised. “I’d better get going—I have papers to grade, blueprints to sell, merchant houses to swindle—“

“-secrets to keep.” Valden said, standing.

“Of course.” Giles said. “I’ll pray for you, my friend. And do all I can. With a little luck, we’ll pull this off and you’ll be safely on your way to Summersea before months end.”

“With a little luck.” Valden nodded. He clasped forearms with Giles.

“So mote it be.”

* * *

It had been a long, tense two weeks. Even Tris, as insulated as she was from the daily interactions of her parents, could pick up on the tension.

Her mother and father had gotten into another screaming match, but this time it had been accompanied by the smash of porcelain and the rip of wall hangings. Anger seemed to radiate through the house, and the only thing that Tris knew is that it was her fault.

Every time she asked, Giles would shake his head and assure her that it wasn’t her fault. After a while, his excuses seemed to run out and Tris was left with a heavy, lingering dread.

One night, after a particularly spectacular fight, Tris became aware of the door opening. She stayed still, feigning sleep, peeking from underneath the covers to see her mother silhouetted in the doorway.

The look on her mother’s face was… strange. Mother’s expression was carefully blank, like the face she used when bargaining with Traders or if Tris had made it snow indoors. She made her way from the door to the bed, standing over her. It was silent for a beat.

“You make it so hard.” Mother murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You were always a strange child, so bright—Aaron would have loved you.” Her voice sounded immeasurably sad. “Aaro would have loved you, but you make it so hard for me.” She laid her hand against the small of Tris’ back, warm through her nightdress. “You are a hard child to love.”

Her skirts rustled as she stood. 

“This is for your own good. Just remember that.” And then she was gone.

Tris couldn’t help the warm tears that started to fall. She didn’t sob, she didn’t shake. She merely lay there, listening to her mother’s fading footsteps. She cried herself to sleep, staring at the empty traveling trunk in the corner of her room and wondered when she would be asked to fill it.

When her Father woke her up the very next night, her heart thudded in her chest. She didn’t think she could bear it if her Father said she was hard to love.

“Wake up, Trisana.” Her father murmured in her ear. “You need to get dressed.”

Tris sat up, rubbing at her eyes and shoving her spectacles on her nose. “What’s happening?” 

“We’re going on a trip.” Father said. He was dressed strangely, in rough clothes like the ones worn by the men on the docks.

Tris swallowed. “Am I… am I being sent away?” She asked in a small voice.

Father stopped. He turned, crouching to look her in the eyes. ‘Trisana Chandler.” He said, firmly. “You are my daughter. I love you, and I will never ever let anyone take you away from me.”

Tris sniffed, nodding.

He gave her a quick, firm hug, and then let go with a little sniffle of his own. “Now, you know those play clothes I gave you a while ago?” Valden gently reminded her. After receiving a nod, he gestured for her to get dressed. As he gathered things from her drawers and packed a knapsack, Tris got dressed. She hopped into the little trousers and tunic, slipping on the little cap her father had bought to cover her hair.

“How do I look?” Tris smiled, pulling the hat down a little more over her ears.  
Valden smiled and pressed a kiss to her daughters covered head. “Cute.”

He lead his daughter quietly out of the house, down the servants alley, and through a few backstreets before emerging at the east gate of Ninver, the closest city exit to their house. They stopped in the shadow of the shabby houses across the cobbled courtyard form the large, imposing portcullis manned by two of the Night Guard.

“Be quiet for me, alright Tris?” Valden said, kneeling ot look his daughter in the eye. The solemn girl nodded, pressing her lips into a firm line.

Taking her hand, Valden made his way out of the shadows, across the torch lit yard to the closest man at attention.

“Halt!” the men-at-arms cried, tapping his pike on the cobblestones with a sharp rap that stopped Valden in his tracks. "What is your business here, at this time of night?"

Unlike the lower class housing, Upper Ninver was mostly deserted at night, with an unofficial curfew. Not many people were out at this time of night and those that straggled in late were regarded with suspicion.

"It's my brother's son, sir." Valden said, flattering the simple guard with his deference. "Ran away from home, he did."

Tris looked up at her father in confusion; since when did her father have a brother and how did her father learn how to talk like a… merchant? He had always prided himself on his singular phonetics and individual turn of phrase. Now, to revert to such uncharacteristic way of speaking… something was very wrong.

"Did he now?" the guard growled back, leering down at Tris. She ducked her head, ashamed.

"I need to get him back to my brother- his apprenticeship starts tomorrow, see-"

"Oh, one of those is he?" the other guard charmed in. "Best suck it up boy. It's only seven or so years-"

"Move along." The first guard called gruffly, interrupting his partner's lecture.

"Thank you." Valden said gratefully. They passed through the arches, emerging from the other side of the thick outer wall in silence.

They followed the main road that wound against a series of drop off cliffs that fell straight into black water. For a while, the only sound was the shuffle of their boots on the ground coral that paved the road.

"Father," Tris yawned, pawing at her sleepy eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Away. On a ship to somewhere far from here." Valden said, lightly. Her smiled down at his daughter with a look that didn't enter his eyes.

“Are we ever coming back?” Tris asked.

"I don't know." Valden said truthfully. Like he'd mentioned to Giles, he wasn't sure if this was explicitly legal or not.

Tris pursed her lips, scrunching her nose as she looked over her shoulder at the shrinking city. "I don't mind." She muttered.

Valden nodded, agreeing with her completely.

They arrived in a small hamlet by the sea after a two-hour walk. They'd been driven off the road a few times, avoiding a late-night messenger or traveler, but for the most part the road was deserted and they walked alone in the dark. Silently, they made their way down the cliffs to the small fishing village nestled among the rocky outcrops and down through houses to the lonely dock.

"Where's our ship, Father?" Tris asked quietly, whispering in the near dead silence of the night.

"It'll be here." Valden said, with more calm then he felt. "I asked Professor Giles to help us out. Have you known Giles to ever break a promise?"

Tris shifted from booted foot to booted foot. "No." she mumbled, tugging at one of her bouncy curls anxiously.

"It'll be fine, Trisana." Valden reassured her, wrapping an arm around his girl's shoulders.

They fell quiet, and Valden strained his ears for any sound of waves slapping wood. He only heard the cry of night fowl and the quiet rush of water against water. He took a deep breath- the sea breeze was lifting his hair and blowing it around his face, filling

"I… I can hear them." Tris whispered, clenching her Father's sleeve. "I can… hear the ship!"

"What?" Valden whispered. All he heard was silence.

"The wind." Tris muttered, taking a small, involuntary step from her father as she spoke. "Sometimes, when the winds blows certain ways I can… hear things." She seemed to shudder a little. "Mother never liked that."

"No, I'd imagine she wouldn't." Valden murmured, an eyebrow raised as the ghostly glow of a ships lantern drifted out of the fog. "Especially if what you were saying made sense."

Tris said nothing but took her Fathers hand again. She didn’t let go until they were well underway and the dawn was breaking over the horizon. Not that either of them could tell with the tall clouds and whipping winds buffeting the small ship back and forth.

"A summer squall, sir!" the First Mate bellowed jovially as he wrestled with the rudder. "A wicked breeze, some choppy waters- no ship killer storms here. It'll just be a bit bumpy so- ah, yes. Vomit over the side, if you would."

Valden groaned in response, too busy heaving his morning's breakfast of hardtack and biscuits over the side.

Tris, on the other hand, was enthralled. She felt happier than she'd been in her life; here, surrounded by the elements, her Father whisking her away from her mother to some far away country where they could both be a family together.

She smiled shyly and hugged herself as a strong gust teased her hair from out of its ribbon, letting the copper strands twist themselves into snarls she knew she'd regret later. Tris frowned as the wind whisked on; she turned to try and follow the air with her eyes but soon gave up. It was quite impossible to see air, after all.

Tris sighed, picking at the rail with a chewed fingernail. Despite how wonderful it made her feel, playing with winds was not normal behavior. Not unless you were an accredited mage of a Circle temple or University, at least. No matter how much her father denied it, Tris was not normal. She couldn't help but think that if she was just a little less strange then… none of this would've happened.

Suddenly sick of the empty water, Tris turned on her heel and strode below decks.

It would be a long two weeks at sea until they reached Emelan. And then everything would be fine.

Hopefully.

* * *

"What do you mean I can't withdraw?" Valden cried. His sharp tone made several of the clients around the bank turn to look at him. "What're you looking at?" he snapped at the closest staring man before turning back to the bank teller.

"I'm sorry sir." The teller said calmly. Obviously he was used to this happening several times a day. "But no money was submitted to your foreign accounts-"

"Is there a note, at least?" Valden asked desperately. His hand tightened on Tris's. Fear for his daughter clouded his eyes.

"It's postmarked for this morning." The teller said, slipping the panicking man a slip of parchment. "Obviously someone found it prudent to send you a message by mage mirrors." The banker sniffed as it was snatched from his hands. "Next!" he called, waving the next customer in line forward, shooing a dazed Valden off to the side.

 _Please be good news._ Valden begged silently, nearly tearing the paper in his haste to read the thing.

_Valden,_

_I don't have much time for pleasantries. House Chandler is on the warpath after you sold those blueprints—you’ve cost them thousands and they don’t let that go lightly. They’ve put a price on your head, and I’ve heard word of messages being sent to every shipbuilding company on the Pebbled Sea with your description and the reward. Congratulations, you’re worth 500 gold nobles. You always did say you make something of yourself._

_Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get you're the needed funds- to do so would tip off the people watching and lead them straight to you. The only thing to do is to go underground. I know you hoped you'd left that life behind forever but your daughter is counting on you. Poverty is the greatest protection against the rich, as you well know. The wealthy hate being reminded of what awaits them if they misstep and tend to ignore those they view as beneath their station._

_Do your best to stay unnoticed. No one pays attention to the simple dayworker; lay low until you can move comfortably. But you already knew all of this and thought of it the second I admitted I couldn't get you the money. Please stay safe my friend; I'm keeping your study neat for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Lyton Giles_

Valden took a deep shuddering gasp, sagging back against the cool stone wall of the bank. No money, no job, and no place to stay… it was his worst nightmare since he'd risen out of the muck to make something of himself.

He'd have to do it again, only with Tris.

 _Tris._ The daughter he loved more than himself, more than riches, then fake happiness. He'd have to subject her to everything she'd been taught since birth to reject. She had to blend in, be part of the crowd. They couldn't afford for either of them to stand out because of accent or clothing. They'd have to shed everything that made themselves individuals and become another faceless body in ragged clothing.

Valden suddenly felt as if he held the entire sky on his broad shoulders. He looked down at his daughter and sighed. Tris seemed to have already picked up on their situation and was calm, calmer than he was, anyway.

"We'll be alright, Father." She said, grabbing his hand.

"I hope so." Valden murmured as he crumpled the note into his hand. They ducked a horse cart and a farmer toting his wares and disappeared into the streets of Summersea.


End file.
